Nor have we forgotten Old Corunna, the one-eyed veteran, who fought with Abercrombie in Egypt, and helped to lay the green turf on the grave of Sir John Moore in Spain. Many were the stories he used to recount of that disastrous retreat, of that fatal embarkation. We have seen his one eye dimmed with a tear as he spoke of Moore, that gallant leader who was dear to his men amid all their sufferings; we have seen it lighted up with genuine humour as he told of wealthy officers marching at the head of their men without shoes or stockings, and the latter whispering to one another, “There goes ten thousand a year.” Unlike Hyderabad, Corunna was of small stature, but wiry as a terrier, retaining his vigour to the last, and ready to meet all comers. The fame of one of his encounters still lives in his native parish, and has long survived him. At the period when he flourished, it was not unusual for professional prizefighters to visit country fairs and to challenge the rustics to a friendly combat. If the challenge was not accepted, they claimed, and usually received, a certain sum of money; if they fought and failed to win, the money belonged to the victor. It so happened that Corunna was refreshing himself in a booth or tent at one of these country fairs when a noted pugilist appeared and gave the usual challenge. No one seemed disposed to take it up, till Old Corunna, over-brimming with whisky and valour, rushed from the tent, divested himself of his great-coat, and went at the bully with such thorough good will and masterly science that victory soon declared in his favour. That was, perhaps, the proudest day in poor Corunna’s existence. During the fight a thief had stolen his great-coat, but this loss was very soon made up, and Corunna remained to his death the champion of the parish. He has several sons now serving in the British army. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER X. THE PIPERS OF OUR HIGHLAND REGIMENTS. Our sketch of the Highland Regiments would be incomplete without some allusion to the men whose martial music inspired them with courage, and often rose loud and triumphant amid the din of battle. The bagpipe has always been a favourite instrument of music among the Celtic race. There is reason to believe that its invention is almost coeval with the origin of the human race; traces of it, at least, are to be found in the bas-reliefs of those ancient cities which have been brought to light by modern explorers. It was known to the Hindoos, the Chinese, and the Assyrians; it is still valued and appreciated by the natives of Ireland and Brittany. It may be justly regarded as the national instrument of Scotland, inasmuch as all our Scottish regiments are provided with pipers; and our Highland soldiers have always preferred their inspiring strains to every other kind of music. This feeling of preference has been well expressed by the poet:—